Free Push Me (To The Edge series, #1) by Jill Macintosh Page A

about it all along.”
    “You can’t blame yourself.”
    “I know.” I didn’t want to talk about Ian anymore, so I changed the subject. “When do you see the cop again?”
    “I don’t think I’m going to.”
    “What? Why not?”
    She poured some more margarita in her glass, then mine. “You’re right. I can’t use that JDate site. I’m not Jewish, so basically what I’m saying right off the bat is, ‘Hi, I’m a liar!’ I don’t know what I was thinking.”
    “Told ya.”
    “Hey, I’m admitting you were right. Go easy on me.”
    I grabbed another stuffed pocket.
    Her phone rang. She went over to the coffee table to get it. “It’s the front desk.” She answered it, then said, “From who?” She listened and then said, “Wait, never mind, I know. Okay, thank you.”
    She hung up and looked at me. “They’re bringing some bags and boxes up here. It must be your stuff from Ian’s.”
    As far as I knew, Ian didn’t know Rachel’s address, but Benson must have told him where he had dropped me off, and he figured anything he shipped here would reach me.
    When the boxes came up, I didn’t open them. They were clothes, almost all of which Ian had paid for, high-end designer items, which made for a good appearance in my line of work. But I didn’t want anything I’d received from Ian. Out of necessity, though, I’d keep them for a little while, but only until I could replace them with items I’d paid for, making a fresh start, and I knew just the way to get them without spending half my paycheck on a pair of shoes.
    We sta cked the boxes and bags in a corner of her den. “I’ll go through them tomorrow and get this out of the way.”
    Rachel hugged me. “No rush. Tomorrow we’ll start trying to find you a rebound guy.”
    “No, thanks. I need some time off from men for a little while.”
    “Great. So you can devote all your free time to finding me one.”
    I gave her my raised-eyebrow look. “Seriously? You want me to help you find a guy? With my track record?”
    “You have a point. Plus, I’m not really rebounding from anything. I’m…God, what am I doing?”
     

Chapter Seven
     
    The next four months of my life were spent mending friendships I’d neglected since Ian came along, and focusing on work. I was determined to remain successful in my career while saving up enough money to rent my own place in New York. Rachel was great and never made me feel like I’d overstayed my welcome, but I didn’t want to impose on her friendship for too long.
    I traveled to several cities I’d never visited before: Seattle, Dallas, Cincinnati, Denver, and Minneapolis.
    I made a trip to Boston and saw Steven and Ross two of the three nights I was there. They invited me to their new house the first night. I’d taken the train from New York and Ross picked me up at the station.
    We were talking, mostly about the train ride up to Boston and how we both kind of enjoyed train rides as long as they were short, when Ross turned down a street, slowed down, and pulled into a driveway. It was long, tree-lined, and had a wrought-iron gate, beyond which I could see the house. Recessed lights in the yard illuminated what could only be described as a mansion—three stories, all brick, with large ground to roof columns along the front….
    “Nice try,” I said.
    “Dammit, I thought it would work,” he said, a look of minor disappointment on his face. He backed out of the driveway and took us to their real home, a modest but nice townhouse, certainly bigger than anything they—or I—would be able to afford in Manhattan.
    Steven was very skilled in the kitchen, and that’s where we found him when we walked in. He was preparing a dinner of chicken with roasted red peppers topped off with a dollop of Greek yogurt and a black bean and rice side dish.
    “This looks amazing,” I said.
    “Ah, it’s just something I whip up now and then,” he said with a wink and a grin.
    Ross rolled his eyes and asked me